


Greenfalls

by Superhusbandsfamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Medieval
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superhusbandsfamily/pseuds/Superhusbandsfamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of moments that take your breath away."</p><p>Can love truly conquer all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

          It was the end of a dreaded war. Leaders of the North battled fiercely in the mountains for what they alleged was theirs to conquer. It was a war predicted many years ago, written in the scriptures; risen from a mere conflict of interest.

          Many perished, but those who lived to speak of it say the gates of Hell had opened that day to unleash its wrath upon those who stood in its way. It was the day Heaven’s doors released its Godly powers on anyone who disobeyed. Disbelievers had set eyes on the remnants of the devastation, and began accepting the truth laying before them.

          The ‘Fallen Lands’, as the people had come to call it, was forsaken. No man had wanted to rule a place filled with tragedy and death. The kingdom was stained red, the foul stench of the deceased flooded the streets, and the incessant rain did not help.

          Its original inhabitants could do nothing more than stand idly by and allow the fate of their beloved home to lie in the hands of the injustice. God’s warriors and minions of the Devil, fought for the reason that they were, beyond doubt, doing right.

          The living fled and hid in shame, praying it was the conclusion to their lives. Little did they know, it was just the beginning; for years had passed, a child had grown into a man, and he had a mission.

          It was a story to be told for years to come. A legend of courage and peace; of family and joy, and most of all, a tale of love.

 


	2. Chapter 1

          It was the autumn festival. Trees lined the edges of the kingdom with the golden brown of their changing leaves. The castle grounds were elaborately decorated with vibrant banners, each holding the crests of the competing houses.

          Amongst the archers and wrestlers, hammer-throwers and gameballers, and those cracking their heads at the philosophers game, were contestants preparing for the highlight of the event at the main court; the long-awaited jousting tournament. Participants rivalled annually for an honorary position in the Royal Order. It was a servitude of pride and nobility for its victor, respected by all of the land; a knighthood unlike any other.

          The tourney was opened to knights, squires and villagers alike. People would travel for weeks-on-end by foot just to be a contender. As soon as their sons were of age, fathers ushered them to compete; months of vigorous training, all for the opportunity to make a name for themselves and their realms.

          However, centuries passed and the winners of past tournaments were no other than members of the royal family themselves. Some suggested it was because not a soul would dare cause harm to the martyrs, while the rest proclaimed they were all simply excellent warriors. Those who were worthy of second place were still granted with the rank of Knight Bachelor for their bravery, but nothing more. Many were upset and declaring unjust, though others took it as motivation to one day change the course of history.

          The stands were packed with citizens flocked from various towns, far and wide. Voices full of excitement and on the edge of their seats, waiting for the opening ceremony. The gates rose and a troop of knights marched in with the great beasts in tow. The massive lions had sabre-like teeth, bore gleaming tan coats, and had ear-splitting roars. The bannermen flew the kingdom’s code of arms and the words, ‘ **Hail The Thunderous Roar Of The Mighty Falls** ’, earning cheers from the crowd as the King and his youngest son rode in at last.

          King John Winchester and Prince Samuel Charles took their respective places in the royal booth. With a wave of the King’s hand, the crowd went quiet. The processions proceeded with the judges and combatants riding onto the field in formal manner. “I welcome and thank you for coming,” the King spoke. “Many brave men have gathered here today, but only one will be victorious. Without further ado, let the game begin!”

          Numerous fought hard, countless lost, and the people were unmistakably entertained. In the horde of competitors, there was one who attracted a lot of attention. He wore a jet black cloak decorated with the silhouette of a flaming phoenix, and was skilfully clearing out his opponents. Dodging stabs and strikes, shattering lance after lance, he made himself a path to the final round.

          The crowd silenced as the lively sound of trumpets filled the air. The knights took their positions and formed an arch with their swords, raising them slowly and synchronised as a beautiful Palomino trotted by. Its blanket displayed the magnificent colours of its kingdom; ruby, jade and gold, matching the full amour of its rider.

          “Presenting the reigning champion of the joust a plaisance,” announced a pepper haired, gruff looking man, taking place beside the King. “Knight Grand Master in Greenfalls Commandery of the Royal Eastern Order...” The person introduced drew his sword, presenting its perfect strength and balance. His shield was welded with the golden mark of a lion with an emerald cut between its jaws. “Duke of Greenfalls, heir to the throne and the first of his name...” The horse had reached the court’s centre and the knight removed his helmet, receiving deafening applause. “His majesty, Prince Dean Henry Winchester,” ended the bearded man.

          Cinnamon brown hair, broad shoulders, brilliant green eyes, and a charming smile, was how one would describe him. The Prince waved at his subjects and bowed when he passed his Father, giving his brother a wink. At his end of the field, the servants handed Dean his well-crafted lance and prepared him for the hastilude.

          The bells rang and the horses charged from opposing sides. The combatants lifted their lances to the elevations they thought appropriate; focused only on the win. _Just another day and another victory_ , Dean thought, wondering off to the feast later, when he felt piercing, and then he was falling.

          Dean was stunned. He had never been defeated in battle before. Refusing to surrender, he picked himself up and drew his sword. Seeing this, his challenger followed lead, dismounting his stallion and wielding his own blade. On impulse, Dean struck first and before long, the two were demonstrating their incredible abilities at swordsmanship. The lone sound perceived in the arena was the clashing of metal on metal. A final blow and one went down.  

          Gasps were heard and then there was pin-drop silence. The tip of the newcomer’s blade rested against the Prince’s chest. The surrounding guards were ready to spring into action, when the sword was yielded. The stranger, with his helmet underarm, offered his hand to the man sprawled before him instead.

          The outsider shadowed over him. He had messy dark browns toning his ruffled expression; curious head-tilt and stubble-covered face. He was squinting at Dean, making him uncomfortable, before eventually warming up into a bright smile, showing off his pearly whites and liquid blue eyes. When he realised the whole court was waiting for his reaction, Dean took the other’s hand and stood. They were about the same height and built, and those eyes were so much bluer up close. “Umm...thanks.”

          “My pleasure, Sire,” the dreamy-eyed stranger replied. “And if it’s alright with you, Sire, I’d like my hand back.”

          Dean flinched. “Of course.”

          Whispers could be heard travelling amongst the subjects, along with looks of discomfort and worry. Their unbeatable leader had fallen to a nameless and the next course of action was unknown. With the rising alarm, the King stood from his seat and calmed his people. “You!” he barked, pointing. “What is your name?”

          The man approached the King, receiving warnings from the guards, and kneeled before him. Bowing his head, he answered, “Castiel, Sire. Castiel Jabez Deus. I rode in from the Mountains of Eraden in the North.”

          “Deus? Are you then not the son of the Northern King?”

          “I am indeed the Duke of Eraden, Sire, but here I forfeit my amour and abandon my titles in honour of my one true King.” Castiel stabbed his sword into the ground and threw his shield down too.

          “Rise,” ordered the King and Castiel got to his feet instantly. “You betrayed your own blood, pronounced loyalty to me, and spared my son...” John looked around and began smiling. “We have our new champion!” he declared. “You shall join us for the feast and shall be rewarded handsomely!”

          The crowd went wild once more and the ceremony came to a close. The participants met in the centre of the lists and embraced each other in true championship of chivalry.

          Dean watched wearily from the sidelines, nursing his wounds, as Castiel gained the people’s trust and his Father’s pride. Castiel was trouble, and somehow, he was going to redeem himself from humiliation.

          There were rows of tables laid with the finest array of dishes the kitchens had spent hours preparing. The villagers had their own spread beyond the castle but within, nobles ravelled in the revelry and company of their fellow men.

          Dean stood in the corner, sipping his chalice of wine while scenes from the joust replayed in his mind. He couldn’t understand how he had lost. His behaviour in the field was unheard of; a disgrace. _Father’s definitely going to have a row later._  

          “Not enjoying your party?” Came a voice from behind, startling him.

          “Geez! Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?”

          “I try not to,” he smirked. “We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m-”

          “Castiel from Eraden. We all know who you are.” Castiel held out his hand in greeting but Dean ignored it.

          “And you’re Dean Winchester. It’s an honour. The people speak highly of you.”

          “That’s _Prince_ to you,” he muttered. “The feast isn’t for me. Shouldn’t you be dancing the night away? Having trouble finding a partner?”

          “Is that an invitation?” Castiel asked, grinning.

          Dean was taken aback. “ _What?_ ”

          They were then interrupted by a guard who approached and Dean released a breath he didn’t realise he had held. “Sire, the King is requesting your presence.”

          “I guess I’ll be seeing you,” Dean said, relieved, and turned to walk away when he was abruptly stopped.

          “I’m sorry, Sire, but I’m afraid the King has asked for Sir Castiel."

          “We’ll speak again soon, _my Prince_.” Castiel’s lips were slightly parted; only one side rose, and he narrowed his eyes, taking a small bow before heading towards the main table.

          “Smug arse...” Dean heard himself mumble. Castiel was just a bundle of questions waiting to be unwrapped, and the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine.

          “Who are you talking to?”

          “Geez, Sammy! Not you too!” he exclaimed and stormed out the hall, leaving his brother puzzled.

          “Castiel! Join me!” John gestured towards the vacant seat next to him, drops of mauve falling onto it in the process. Castiel nodded and took his place beside the slightly tipsy King. “Fitting in alright I see?”

          Castiel smiled, “Yes Sire, indeed I am. Thank you for having me.”

          “Now...” The King took a sip of his wine before setting the cup down and turning to speak to Castiel, creating a serious atmosphere. “You defeated my son. It’s not something I take lightly.”

          “Yes. I understand.”

          “You will be knighted tomorrow and be part of this kingdom officially,” John began. “In return, I ask something of you.”

          “Anything, Sire. Your wish is my command.”

          “Hah!” John gave him a hard pat on the back. “That’s what I like to hear! My sons could learn a thing or two from you.”

          “You raised them well enough, Sire,” Castiel said, grinning.

          “Yes, I hope so. It was difficult when their Mother passed.” John cleared his throat and reached for his drink.

          “I’m sorry for your loss.”

          “Thank you, its fine. It happened a long time ago.” John managed a smile but eyes relayed otherwise. “So, how is your Father? I haven’t heard any news from the North. He and I used to be good allies. We fought side by side in battle once.”

          “He’s doing well. Up to the usual.”

          “Good, good.”

          Castiel listened as John reminisced the old days and his duties as a Father and King. It was getting late and the hall started to empty. Those who had a little too much to drink and had fallen asleep were escorted out by the guards, while others lingered around chatting up the aristocracy to end the night with further entertainment.

          “Your chambers have been chosen for you. We’ll discuss more tomorrow.” John had said before leaving with the last group of people.

          Castiel liked his new room. It was a lot bigger than home and being on the topmost floor of the castle, he had a spectacular view of the town below. For a moment, he had forgotten his purpose. He had expected a different approach, but was not going to argue with the way they accepted him. _Things would be easier this way,_ he thought.

          He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small parchment, and whistled. Along came a black bird, blending in with the dark, swooping down on the windowsill. He carefully tied the note to its tarsus and set it off again. With the bowl of water provided, he washed and was ready for bed. Closing his eyes, all he could think of was green.      **  
**

          Flapping its wings, cawing through the sinister night; across running waters and harsh forests, the Raven returned to its master. Surrounded by misty ruins, a hooded figure caged the animal and untied the scroll. His smile grew reading the words:

 _It_ _has begun_


End file.
